The air whipped around the pair that stood at the cliff's edge, rustling his hair and silks. Though he could smell the birds and beasts around them, the clearing was silent save for the song of the wind that howled by him, pulling him from his thoughts and demanding he listen to its warning. Something had changed while his focus had been preoccupied, and he was only now starting to sense it.

There was reason for his distraction. It had been too long since he had been back home to the West, but longer still that he had known any type of peace. Sesshomaru had been growing impatient, and in doing so, perhaps had become too consumed in his quest to obtain that which belonged to him. He had yet to hold the blade to him, to feel the weight of his father's mighty fang in his hands, at his side. The blade that was his by rights and by blood and was the only one in existence which could match his power...was worthy of it. What had begun as a mere birthright claim and pilgrimage had, over the course of over half a century, drug into what seemed a never-ending journey.

He had gone on wanting for too long, had been searching too long with no sign of the fang, though he knew it was merely a sliver of time for one as eternal and determined as he. But it bothered him still, that he wandered as a common drifter, following this lead and that – all to fruitless ends. He knew that soon, he would need to return to the West, that the lands of his father and that before him needed him. But he needed only what was owed to him, and only then, could he return. Whole.

His eyes sliced to his minion wielding the Nintojo – the staff of two heads. The staff had been quiet since leading them to that worthless tomb and forcing Sesshomaru to practice his restraint as he considered wrapping his light whip around his underling's throat and beheading him before spiking him to the ground on the staff that had misled them. It wasn't the first time he needed to force such composure, and surely would not be the last.

There must be a reason for the staff's behavior, he reminded himself. He would need to be patient. Patience was his specialty, a trivial task for one as dignified as he.

He turned and began walking along the unintentional path made by the migrating pack animals. The lingering scent of them littered the area assaulting his sensitive nose, threatening to bring water to his eyes. Thankfully, the wind was picking up again, bringing new scents to camouflage the stench.

Interesting, ancient scents.

His pace slowed as he faced east, towards the old village. The one he hadn't set foot in since the night of the burning. He despised that feeling of tightness beneath the chest plate of his armor at the memories that night conjured, and so he ignored them, simply turned them off to consider the other slight sensation that irritated his senses.

"Jaken."

"Yes, milord?" The little green imp swung his staff as he whirled, eager to hear his master's whim. Sesshomaru was not a creature of many words, so when he did speak, his message landed powerfully.

The Daiyokai kept his golden eyes to the horizon, not deigning to drop his gaze to his minion. "Do you sense that?"

"The only thing I sense is your great and terrible power, milord! And your benevolence, certainly not your temper – no milord! For you are as graceful and composed..."

Sesshomaru curled his lip in a sneer. Did that sniveling little goblin have no shame? Jaken continued to shuffle nervously and wax on about his master as Sesshomaru tried to sense the source of the faint yet growing, pulsing power.

"Quiet, Jaken." He ordered. Not surprisingly, Jaken shut his mouth and leveled his enormous eyes toward the ground. Jaken was nothing, if not loyal. What the green-skinned little imp lacked in stature; he made up for in his devotion to his Lord. Since Sesshomaru had inadvertently saved him from certain death so many years ago, he had pledged his undying allegiance to the Daiyokai before committing himself to a sort of servitude that Sesshomaru had never requested nor needed. Yet despite himself, he allowed the imp to serve him.

And now, Jaken watched as his master closed his eyes and reached out with his yokai, probing at the air and earth for any sign of the source of that formidable energy. It had been nearly half a century since he felt such a thing.

It couldn't be. The jewel was gone from this world, destroyed along with its guardian.

Wasn't it?

He had to admit, the implications intrigued him. Perhaps, it could be considered as another route, however distasteful it seemed to him. He hadn't considered it in the past – but that was long ago. Before he would learn just how well Father had hidden his prize. The jewel was an unbelievable source of power. Perhaps...it could be temporarily harnessed for his purposes. The thought set him on edge. Would he, the most powerful Daiyoki in Japan be lowered so; to depend on the power that was not his own? It was undoubtably beneath him, yet that fatigue was so constant. The ages had been dragging, and despite over fifty years of searching and wandering, his hands remained as cold and empty as his figurative throne did in the West.

That hollow part of him tugged, longing for this journey to end and for his reign to begin. The West was only the beginning for the Daiyokai after all.

Sesshomaru cracked his knuckles as he made his decision. "Come, Jaken."

"Where are we going, my Lord?"

"East. Towards the village of the Shikon Miko." He gave no explanation, merely an order. Jaken's eyes widened, but he wisely said nothing, and simply hopped along after his lord.

Only after the pair had cleared the stone pass did the birds again take up their song.